大象传媒

This is one of the stories collected on the 25th October 2003 at the CSV's Make a Difference Day held at 大象传媒 Manchester. The story was typed and entered on to the site by a CSV volunteer with kind permission of Margaret Tomlinson.

My Earliest Recollections

I can still feel the rough texture of the green paper wrapper around my bar of perfumed soap. The brand name was printed in black letters, PALMOLIVE. I sniffed and sniffed until the perfume filled my nostrils but could feel no consolation. I would gladly have relinquished my perfumed soap for a chance to stay at home with my Mum. You see, I was to be an evacuee.

I have to be honest and tell you that when I was a small girl of only five years, my brother who was nine, was not my favourite person. However it was my brother who looked after me for the next three months. I remember he was made to make the promise over and over. 鈥淟ook after you little sister鈥�. He just nodded his head in agreement. I have since learned of the desolation that was creeping over his own heart at this enforced separation from home and parents.

The journey I cannot remember, perhaps I slept. The household where we billeted consisted of three females. The oldest lady wore glasses and she had lines on her face, of course I now know that the lines on her face were the outward signs of her age and wisdom. Her hair was grey and fashioned in a popular style of the day, deep water waves and small curls at the neck. Her middle aged daughter did not communicate with us children very much. She was very graceful in her movements and I was fascinated as I watched her move about the house, rather like a hovercraft gliding over the water. A schoolgirl, who wore a green school blazer and skirt, completed the household. I was envious of her school satchel, which looked brand new.

There were seven of us deposited at this semi-detached amazon domicile. Boys and girls, various ages, all from the 鈥榙ark satanic mills鈥� area. We spent a lot of time sat half-way up the stairway of the house, the older children telling ghost stories.

Bed times I remember because I had to sleep across a double bed with two other children. The light was turned out, this was a sign for me to want the smallest room. My bedmates were strangers to me and I did not know the geography of the house well enough in the dark. I decided to hang on. I failed and my crime was discovered the next morning when the one with the nautical hairstyle came to rouse us. The disapproving stare she laid on me caused something inside me to shrivel and die. My self-confidence took a beating and did not recover for years.

I am not sure if I committed this anti-social behaviour once or more than once. However, once was enough to render the memory of it indelible.

If I thought this was the ultimate in humiliation, I was wrong. There was worse to come. There is an instrument of torture called 鈥榓 fine tooth comb鈥�. I really did try not to scratch. I tried to make it look as if I was adjusting my hair ribbon. The result was that all seven heads were scraped raw over the lavatory bowl.

I could continue with this chronicle of misery but it is sufficient to say that it is a time about which I remember many things, all of them sad. I came to an end because my parents were equally unhappy and they came to fetch us home.

I was too young to realise it, but a truth was revealed to me at that time. I now know that in adversity the most unlikely individuals will join hand, stick together, dig in, or whatever you like to call it. There is a welding of personalities and bonds of friendships made at such times that can stretch around the world and last a lifetime.

My brother and I are still in touch with two of the seven. Our conversation always begins 鈥淗ey, do you remember when鈥�..?鈥�

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